


I figured out what the slashes mean

by Teaismycoffee



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Backrubs, Getting Together, M/M, Nightmares, reading fan fiction, safe house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaismycoffee/pseuds/Teaismycoffee
Summary: Sam, Steve and Bucky are all living together in a safe house. Bucky and Sam discover fan fiction written about them. Steve doesn't approve. Sam and Bucky are really into secretly reading fan fiction together, or maybe it isn't the fan fiction part they are really into.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	I figured out what the slashes mean

Sam came out to the kitchen to see if there was any coffee left in the pot or if he had to make more. He had had trouble sleeping and ended up sleeping in, which was unusual for him. Steve was coming in from a run, sweaty, with cold air rolling off him. Sam had meant to go on that run with him. Even Bucky was up, siting instead of still asleep on the couch, in their tiny house drinking a huge mug of coffee, dark hair hanging over his eyes, completely engrossed in whatever was on the laptop screen. Bucky was almost always the last up. 

Sam gave a half-hearted salute to Steve and sighed into the empty coffee pot. “Barnes, what cup is that for you this morning?” 

Bucky answered “four” without looking up.

“Caffeine doesn’t do anything for you,” Sam said bitterly, throwing the old coffee grounds in the trash and getting out a new filter. 

“I like the taste,” Bucky replied, with the faintest smirk, still without looking up.

After moving every few days for too long, this tiny, one bedroom modular home is where they had landed, the three of them. Sam and Steve were comfortable in close quarters, after tracking Bucky half way around the world for more than a year together. Steve and Bucky had to relearn that skill. It helped that Bucky’s memories were coming back gradually, and being Steve’s friend was apparently like riding a bicycle. Much of it was muscle memory Bucky hadn’t lost. 

Although the actual house was less than ideal, it was in the middle of nowhere on 20 acres, in a field, surrounded by woods. There was sunshine and fresh air and they could spend a lot of time outside…unless it was raining.

Bucky and Sam were politely giving each other as much space as possible, which wasn’t much. There was a wariness that held them apart in the beginning, that was only starting to loosen now. The previous week Sam had relaxed enough to make a crack about Bucky throwing him off a helicarrier. Steve had tensed but Bucky had reached over and eaten a cookie off Sam’s plate while maintaining eye contact with him. The look in his eyes was less fragile after that.

Things had warmed up a bit going forward. It was like the three of them had let out the breath they had been holding. The house was still tiny but it was easier to let their guards down. Steve was cautious and it was obvious that he wanted the truce, or the thaw, or whatever had happened to last.

Steve took his shoes off by the door and sat on a stool at the counter between the kitchen and living room, facing Sam, effectively placing himself between Sam and Bucky. Sam leaned on the counter facing Steve.

“Bad night?” Steve asked quietly, concern on his face and in his voice, “I didn’t hear…”

Sam shook his head. “Not really. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Maybe you should drink less coffee,” Bucky said from the couch, still behind Steve so Sam couldn’t see him. Sam knew he was smirking more than before, even if he couldn’t see his face.

Steve licked his lips and started to turn to face Bucky to say something when Bucky cut him off. “Hey, did you know that there is fan fiction about us? I’m reading… I don’t know what the slashes mean.”

“What?” Steve asked, his impending scolding derailed.

“It looks like people write stories about us and post them to the internet …and other people read them. I’m reading one about …all the Avengers living together in Stark Tower,”Bucky said, “I’m living there too. And you too Sam.”

“I never lived there,” Sam said flatly.

“I did,” Steve said.

“Was there a lot of kissing?” Bucky asked, finally looking up and giving Steve a dazzling smile.

“What? No! I mean,…not that I was aware of,” Steve answered flustered.

Sam smiled and turned and finished making a new pot of coffee.

They stayed in silence for another minute or two, listening to the gurgling coffee pot.

“Oh,” Bucky said finally, “I figured out what the slashes mean.”

“Hmmm?” Steve asked.

Bucky didn’t reply but kept reading. “I am reading a different one now where we are in a band. An ‘emo’ band. With Natasha.”

Steve didn’t reply.

Sam got his coffee finally. He brushed past Steve, patting him firmly on the shoulder, and sat next to Bucky, leaving a good 6 inches of space between them. “What do I play?”

“You are the guitarist. Natasha is the bassist. Steve is the drummer. I am the singer… I am talented but moody…and brooding. Stark has a band too. Our bands hate each other.” 

Steve sighed loudly and stood up. I’m going to take a shower he said.

Sam leaned closer and started to read the screen with Bucky. 

As Steve retreated into the bathroom, Bucky asked what “emo” meant and Sam typed it into Google on his phone.

—-

When Steve got out of the shower, Sam was laying on the couch, with his head next to Bucky’s leg, and his legs dangling over the arm. Bucky was reading out loud, “all alone finally. The Winter Solider and Falcon looked at each other, mischief in their eyes, and tackled Captain American to the ground. The Winter Soldier held him down while Falcon straddled him and worked his fingers under his uniform to get to his ribs. ‘Stop, you know I’m ticklish,’ Bucky read the last part doing his best Steve impression.

Steve turned without speaking and shut himself in the bedroom. Sam and Bucky burst out laughing. 

He came out of the bedroom fully dressed and more composed. They were still both sitting on the couch but Bucky had put the laptop away and Sam was flipping through channels. Steve cleared his throat. “Look….I,” he started. They both looked up, meeting his gaze. “It is okay if you want to read those stories, I just…” His face started to go red. “Can you you guys please not read stories where I’m …kissing anyone… Just leave me out of it.” 

Bucky and Sam were both there with Steve in that house for a reason. For the many ways they were different, Steve was their best friend and they were both suckers for his earnest requests. 

“Yeah, man,” Sam answered, holding Steve’s gaze. Bucky nodded his head solemnly. 

—-

It was a few days before they read any more. By unspoken agreement they did not even mention fan fiction when Steve was home. Steve had gone out to run errands and Sam was making himself a sandwich at the counter. Bucky snorted. Sam glanced over and saw the laptop open. 

“What are you reading?” Sam asked.

Bucky raised his gaze up, his eyes flashing, “We are werewolves”.

Sam took a minute to process, then smiled. “If you read it out loud…from the beginning… I’ll make you a sandwich”.

Buck considered a moment, “okay… uh, what do we have?” And then he smiled. 

Sam ended up asking procedural questions through the entire sandwich process. The end result was that Bucky didn’t actually start reading until Sam brought the sandwich over to the couch and sat down next to him. 

Bucky took a huge bite and started to read, “What people don’t realize about wolf hierarchy…” 

“That is gross man. Just..eat your sandwich.” Sam glanced behind him at the clock on the stove. “Steve is going grocery shopping. He is going to be gone at least two hours. We’ve got time.” 

Steve compared prices. Steve read ingredients. Steve took advantage of deals in the store circular. 

Bucky swallowed his first bite and took another huge bite of his sandwich, “This is good.” And he smiled at Sam again. Sam wasn’t used to all the smiling coming from Bucky but he wasn’t going to complain. He liked this better than the way things were before.

They were a good third of the way into the story, it was a long one. Bucky was lying stretched out across the couch and Sam was on the floor stretched out parallel to him.

Bucky read “His stomach growled. The only thing he wanted this time of month was a huge, rare steak. He knew that not only was there no meat, they barely had any protein supplements left. Even though he was alpha and had a right to a larger share than the others, Sam would never deprive his friends, his brothers, of equal shares. He sighed. How long had it been since he’d hunted. He thought about steak again. His mouth watered imagining how the juices, tinted red by blood, would pool in his mouth and run down his throat. He imagined sinking his teeth in and feeling the flesh rip as he took his first bite. He-”

“I miss steak,” Sam interjected quietly.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. Pulling his eyes from the screen of the laptop perched on his stomach and up to the dirty white ceiling. 

“Yeah. I mean, I like pork chops and all… oh, you know what I miss? Steak cooked on the grill.” Sam sighed.

Bucky was quiet for a minute, then sat up and set the laptop on the couch, stood up and stepped over Sam and went into the kitchen.

“You don’t have to stop reading, man,” Sam said wondering if disappointment was noticeable voice. 

“I’m getting a drink.” Bucky said. “Do you want one? I will keep reading.”

Sam had noticed, since the very light teasing had begun, that although Bucky found ways to be irritating, he never teased Sam about things Sam wanted. Sam was not sure what to make of it. 

They’d finished the story before Steve got home, but it was a close thing. Sam was hand-washing the dishes from lunch, not sure where Bucky had disappeared to, wondering about the logistics of the werewolf fight at the end of the story when Steve came in with a bag of groceries in each arm. Bucky was right behind him with a bag in each arm. 

As the three unpacked and put away groceries, Steve filled them in idylly on his decision making processes. Sam reached the bottom of the bag he was unloading and pulled out six chuck steaks. He froze.

Bucky interrupted Steve gently, without looking at Sam, “Hey, I was checking out that old grill in the back. It is rusty but usable. I found half a bag of charcoal. Lets grill steaks tonight.” 

Thats where Bucky was. Sam’s brain raced to catch up, the grill. And Bucky had texted Steve to buy steaks while he was getting drinks. 

Sam didn’t say anything just started unloading groceries again.

Later that night, Bucky and Steve sat at the two-person table pushed up under the window and Sam sat at the counter on a stool, enjoying his medium-well, definitely not rare, steak immensely. 

“This was a good idea, Buck,” Steve said, sighing, obviously enjoying his steak as well. 

“All of a sudden, I wanted steak,” Bucky said quietly, glancing up and catching Sam’s eyes.

Sam smiled at him, easily. It was hard not too. He was really enjoying the steak. 

Then, after glancing to make sure Steve wasn’t looking, Bucky mouthed “alpha.” 

Sam barked a laugh out loud in spite of himself but turned it into a cough, and then took a long sip of water. 

—-

If things had melted before, they were now seriously thawed. Sam helped Becky cook dinner, colliding frequently, casually brushing past each other. Bucky joined Sam and Steve on a run, one time. He really wasn’t a morning person. When Steve and Bucky would reminisce about the old days, Sam would sit and listen instead of grabbing a book and heading to the bedroom. Sometimes he’d ask questions. When Steve would go outside without them, sometimes one of them would pull up a short one to read on their phone, out loud, quickly. There was no particular reason to hide it from Steve, but hiding it from Steve was somehow part of the fun. 

They hadn’t been alone, without Steve, for more than 15 minutes for more than a week and Sam was antsy. He was…waiting for something to happen, although he didn’t consciously know what. 

They’d run out of eggs, milk, bread and all lunch meats, and Steve declared someone needed to go grocery shopping again. “You look like you are crawling out of your skin, Sam, you go this time,” Steve offered. He clapped his hand down on Sam’s arm. “Get out of the house.”

Bucky sat at the counter, with their definitely 20+ year-old toaster partially disassembled in front of him, cleaning the heating element. He never got to go on the grocery runs, still technically a wanted criminal, but he didn’t mind. He could take joy in domestic activities, but grocery shopping wasn’t one of them. “Too many choices,” he’d told them once.

Sam thought for a second about leaving the house, and then things turned sideways in his head and clicked into place. “No, man, you go. You love grocery shopping.”

“You sure?” Steve asked, hopeful but genuinely concerned. 

“Yeah,” Sam answered nonchalantly, “It’s cool. I’ll stay with Barnes. I feel like reading.”

Bucky glanced up from toaster, and met Sam’s gaze, assessing. He gave Sam a slight nod and turned to Steve, “Go, Stevie, I’ll pet-sit your bird for you.”

Sam threw a shoe across the room at him. It was the nearest thing he could grab. Luckily for the toaster, he missed completely and the shoe smacked the wall. 

Bucky cackled.

Steve frowned, “Maybe I should-”

“Go!” Bucky and Sam said in unison.

He did.

They heard the engine sounds disappear into the distance.

“Did you want something…Sweet Pea?” Bucky asked without looking up. “Sweet Pea” was the name Bucky called Sam in one of the pieces they’d read quickly, last time Steve went for a walk by himself. There were multiple pet names to choose from. Sam didn’t know why Bucky had chosen that one. He also was too busy trying to assemble his thoughts to respond with a jab of his own. He did want something, he wanted to read fan fiction with Bucky. He wanted it badly enough that he was districted and irritable. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

When Sam didn’t answer, Bucky did look up. “Five minutes,” he said, “I have to …hopefully this thing will actually toast bread now.” 

In the end it was more like fifteen minutes and Sam had to find a screw for him that had rolled off the counter into the shag carpet. 

They ended up on the couch again, this time Sam sitting and Bucky stretched out with the laptop on his chest, one leg across Sam’s lap, one on the floor. Bucky had complained that he had a cramp in that leg and he had to stretch it out so he needed the whole couch, but Sam could sit on one end, as long as he could put his leg in Sam’s lap. Sam had considered stretching out on the floor, but there was definitely an ant issue with this place and with the whole last week feeling like summer again, there were ants again.

“What do you feel like?” Bucky asked, scrolling.

“Hmmm…something good. Something long,” Sam answered, sinking back into the couch, shifting the weight of Bucky’s leg so it was more comfortable. He rested his hand on Bucky’s calf.

They had honored Steve’s request and had avoided any stories with Steve tagged in a relationship. They avoided reading any that had any of their friends in explicit situations. That left them mostly reading stories paring the two of them, although they decided that they were okay reading “Ironman/Loki” fics when they both were feeling particularly bitter. That wasn’t today.

“This one says “background Tony Stark/Steve Rogers”, do you think that counts?” Bucky asked.

“What is the story?” Sam asked.

“Courtroom drama. I like this author…they wrote that one where I was a fallen angel,” he looked up tilting his head to the side, waiting for Sam’s answer. No pressure, just waiting. Just wanting to give Sam what he wants.

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Sam answered and gave him a small smile, still feeling off-balance from before. Bucky started to read. 

Turned out in the story Steve and Tony were adoptive parents to Peter Parker, the spider-kid who’d webbed them in the airport in Germany. Steve and Tony were having “relationship issues” and Bucky and Sam, who were happily married, had started taking care of Peter when the fighting got bad. 

Steve had said “no kissing”, there was definitely no kissing between Steve and Tony in this story.

Bucky read, “Bucky stood in the doorway to the kitchen, towel over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up from doing dishes. His dark brow creased in worry. Sam came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his husband from behind. ‘You are a million miles away, Babe.,’ Bucky turned in Sams arms and kissed him on the forehead, letting the fingers on his metal arm drag down Sam’s back in the way he knew made Sam sigh. ‘I stopped by Stark Tower to see Steve this afternoon. Things aren’t good. I’m…I’m worried about Peter. He was supposed to be at school and he wasn’t. He said he was sick but-’”

Sam interrupted Bucky, “how old do you think that kid really is?” 

Bucky glanced up and looked around his screen to meet Sam’s eyes, “I don’t know… not 12… You know, you could rub my leg. It would help with my cramp.” He flexed his calf to emphasize his point and gave Sam a hopeful smile.

Sam swore at him, the started to mindlessly rub Bucky’s calf through his jeans.

“You don’t have kids,” Bucky stated, but Sam knew it was a question. 

“Nah,” Sam answered, “do you?” 

Bucky froze for a moment, “Oh… god… I hope not.”

Sam forgot sometimes how much Bucky had lacked bodily autonomy. It hadn’t even occurred to him to think about that possibility. He slid his hand under the cuff of Bucky’s jeans and rubbed his bare skin. “Jesus. That isn’t.. that's not what I mean anyway. Uh…do you want to have kids someday?”

Bucky stared up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know that I could…actually…” he said very quietly, “…but like in this story? I’m…I don’t know if there is enough of me left to…” He didn’t finish.

“I like kids,” Sam said, trying to pivot back to safer ground, “but I don’t think I’d want a kid that could kick me off a balcony if I asked him to clean his room or web me to the wall if I grounded him.”

“No spider children then” Bucky said softly, and though he didn’t say “for us”, Sam thought maybe heard it and it made his stomach feel strange. 

“Want me to read?” Sam asked, reaching for the laptop. 

“I’ll read. Can you rub my other leg?” Bucky asked softly, but this time, it was with puppy-dog eyes. 

“You have a cramp in that leg too?” Sam asked skeptically.

“No.” Bucky answered and plopped his other leg up on Sam’s lap.

Sam swore and started to rub Bucky’s other calf.

—-

The extended summer heat finally came to an end and it got cold again, and rained for a week straight. Being stuck in the little house was rough on all of them, and they were all grouchy but Bucky was pretty unbearable. He snapped at Sam a few times but mostly was silent around him. He didn’t hold back with Steve though. Steve could do nothing right. And although Steve was endlessly patient, Sam could tell Steve was coming to the end of his rope. 

One afternoon the rain stopped long enough for Steve to force them all to bundle up and head outside into the overcast, still wet, afternoon for a nature walk. It seemed like it was working, no one was arguing. Sam felt like he had room to breathe. Steve was picking red raspberries and sharing with Sam. Sam was running his fingers through tiny puddles on leaves and was about to say something about the leaves changing color when the faintest noise behind him made him turn.

Bucky, who’d been silently walking next to him, not eating raspberries when Steve offered them, turned a fraction of a second before and pulled two knives out of holsters Sam didn’t realize he was wearing and was halted from taking out a startled doe standing in the middle of the track, only by Steve reaching over Sam and grabbing Bucky.

“Jesus Christ, James Buchanan Barnes, what the hell?,” Steve hollered, and with one leap, the deer disappeared back into the forest.

Bucky scowled at Steve but didn’t answer.

“I’m not messing around,” Steve continued, “you just about took out …Bambi’s mom.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, “let go of my arm now.”

For a minute Sam held his breath. Sam knew better then to try to intervene. It was a close thing but finally Steve let go and turned to Sam and started walking, motioning for Sam to walk with him. They left Bucky standing in the middle of the track. 

“I’ve got to get out of here…or I’m going to punch him. I’m going to go for a drive,” Steve said. Steve was walking so quickly Sam had to jog every few steps to keep up. 

“Umm, okay,” Sam replied. 

Steve turned to look at him, “He isn’t going to do anything, but, probably you should stay. Just give him space.” Sam could tell Steve was checking to make sure he wasn’t hurting Sam’s feelings, leaving him behind. 

Sam just nodded and Steve slowed down a bit. They walked back to the house normal speed.

——

Fifteen minutes after Steve took off in the car, Sam heard Bucky come in. Sam was stretched out on the couch looking at his phone. Bucky didn’t say anything, just shut the door and kicked off his shoes, then went to make a pot of coffee.

“Coffee doesn’t do anything for you man,” Sam said. 

“I like the taste,” Bucky said opening and slamming cupboards and drawers a little harder than he needed to. 

Well, that was at least comfortable ground for them. That was a good place to start.  
“So, were you trying to get Steve to punch you? Or what?” Sam asked with the same tone of voice as his coffee remark.

Bucky shrugged and didn’t answer. “Uh, do you want coffee?” He was still wearing his damp hoodie. It had started misting out before he’d come inside and he had tiny beads of water covering his hair.

“Uh. Sure,” Sam answered. And sighed.

Bucky brought him coffee and pushed Sam’s legs up so he could sit at the other end of the couch. “Read something,” he said gesturing to laptop plugged in on the floor.

Sam studied his body language. Bucky was trying to relax, Sam could tell, but he was holding tension in every muscle, working hard not to scowl, shifting ineffectually to try to get comfortable. Sam knew that it would not go well if they did and whatever this thing was that they did together, it seemed vulnerable, like it could be destroyed by a bad mood. He wanted to protect it.

“How about we talk instead?” Sam asked raising his eyebrows.

“Nothing to talk about,” Bucky said meeting Sam eyes with a tight smile.

“Uh, huh,” Sam responded, waiting.

Bucky sighed. “I’m sick of being stuck here, in this house…with nothing to do. My skin is too tight. This isn’t… this doesn’t have to do with…” Sam knew “Hydra” was implied. “Nothing to talk about. Read something,” Bucky said again. He did relax slightly after explaining that much. “Maybe it will help,” he finished, not very confidently. He stared straight ahead but Sam could see him mindlessly jiggling his leg up and down.

Sam took a deep breathe, “I think that would be a bad idea-”

“Wilson,” Bucky snapped at him, cutting him off. 

“Fine,” Sam snapped, then sighed and rubbed his face.

Sam skimmed through the stories, trying to find one that would be shocking, maybe that was what Bucky needed. Something that would make him laugh. Something to shake him out of his dark mood. 

Sam thought okay, man, you want to hit something.

Sam started reading and for the first few minutes, it seemed like maybe it was helping. Sam could hear Bucky’s breathing slowing. It did occur to him once he started reading that possibly this was the wrong choice... but that thought hadn’t occurred quickly enough. 

Sam read, “The Winter Solider looked down at him, his hair hanging down over his steely eyes, and with one hand on Sam’s shoulder, slapped him hard across his face. It stung but Sam…”

Bucky had gone perfectly still. Completely still. Sam didn’t think Bucky was even breathing now. 

Sam tossed the laptop onto the floor, “I’m so sorry man, that was… a bad choice…” He had sat up and slid his body next to Bucky’s. Bucky was still staring straight ahead. “Barnes,” he said and got no reply. 

Fuck, Sam thought. He wondered how he kept screwing this up. He was starting to feel like “this” was something and it seemed like he was making more mistakes with it than he should. 

He dropped down to his knees on the floor in front of Bucky and tried again, “Barnes…Bucky. Fuck. Say something.” Bucky was still staring straight ahead. Sam resisted the urge to touch his face and instead said, “I’m going to touch your hand, is that okay?”

Bucky still holding his face perfectly still, moved his eyes to focus on Sam, then gave the smallest nod. 

Sam was relieved to see that he hadn’t somehow activated the Winter Soldier programing, it was Bucky behind those eyes, an absolutely miserable Bucky. It hurt Sam’s heart. He sandwiched Bucky’s human hand between his hands and started rubbing gently between his tendons. Sam heard Bucky take a gasp of breath. That was good. Breathing was good.

Sam carefully massaged Bucky's hand and wrist and forearm and after a few more breaths Bucky turned his face slowly toward Sam’s. “I wouldn’t like that,” he said very quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have picked that one. That was my fault,” Sam said while holding Bucky’s hand between his. 

Bucky was worse off then before, Sam realized. He thought Bucky looked like he might cry. Sam didn’t know if Bucky ever cried, at least while awake. Crying probably would help, but the thought of Bucky crying twisted Sam’s heart further. 

Without letting go of him Sam asked, “Are you okay with back rubs?” 

“What?” Bucky asked, still very quietly, still not moving nearly enough.

“Some people like back rubs, some people don’t,” Sam explained. 

“I don’t know…I don’t think I’ve ever had one,” he answered.

Probably not a lot of back rubs in Hydra, or on the run by yourself through Europe, Sam realized.

“Okay, I think this might help,” Sam cautiously, “If you are okay with it, I’m going to give you a back rub.”

Bucky said nothing.

“If you don’t like it I will stop immediately. Is that okay? Can I try?” Sam asked holding eye contact.

Bucky nodded slightly. 

Sam stood and looked down at Bucky, and hoped that this was going to make things better and not even worse. It seemed unfair, but probably made sense that befriending your best friend’s formerly brainwashed ex-assassin best friend while you are all three laying low in a tiny modular home would be fraught with unexpected pitfalls. 

He scooted Bucky further forward to the edge of the couch, then carefully peeled off Bucky’s damp hoodie. Then slid in behind him. Sam started gently rubbing his Bucky’s shoulders, lightly skimming his fingers across the scarring, which he could feel through Bucky’s t-shirt. Then dug his thumbs in and started rubbing. 

A gasp escaped Bucky’s lungs.

Sam stopped and lifted his hands away, “do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Bucky said, finally speaking louder than a whisper, “I think… I think I like back rubs.”

Sam sighed in relief this time and went back to work, gradually increasing pressure. As he went along he could feel muscles relaxing under his touch. He realized that he could get to Bucky’s shoulders but the two of them were not ideally positioned on the couch if he was going to reach the rest of his back. 

It took no effort at all to convince Bucky to lay facedown on the shag carpet, thankfully no ants in sight, and let Sam straddle hips. Sam dug his knuckles into any tense spots he could find. He pushed up the back of Bucky’s t-shirt so he dig his finger tips into Bucky’s skin. Bucky made a soft sound. 

“Would you want me to do that?” Bucky asked finally, without looking up, Sam still rubbing his back. 

Sam didn’t have to ask what he meant and he didn’t have to consider it, he answered quickly, “No.” Then he made eye contact, and said it again, “No. I was trying to… I don’t know, shock you out of your bad mood.” 

“Thats good,” Bucky said, with relief tangible in his voice.

Different questions ran through Sam’s mind. He produced and discarded multiple things to say, all the while, becoming more and more aware of the points of contact between them. Sam decided to file this conversation away to take out and examine later. He could feel that they were on the edge of dangerous ground. 

“Do you still want to pick a fight with Steve?” Sam asked, dragging the conversation back to safer territory. 

“Nah,” Bucky said, sounding much more like his normal self than he had earlier “this was way better.”

“You really never got a back rub? I mean before…” Sam asked.

This time Bucky turned his head to the side so he wasn’t speaking into the carpet, “Maybe… I can’t remember.”

“Seems like Steve is the back rub kind of guy,” Sam said.

“Steve give you many back rubs?” Bucky asked curiously.

Sam chuckled, “No, but pretty near.” He remembered many squeezes on his shoulder, and pats on the back. Steve was extremely physical but also constantly set boundaries. Sam wasn’t always sure where the boundaries were or what they meant, but he thought maybe back rubs were on the other side of a boundary. Sam had no idea where Bucky’s boundaries were, or if he even had them.

Then it occurred to Sam that Steve's back rub boundaries might not go both ways. On an impulse he said, “Don’t tell Steve I’m good at giving back rubs.” He imagined that if Steve knew back rubs were on the table, Sam might be forever giving back rubs. It was impossible to say no to Steve. 

Bucky laughed, “yeah, okay.”

—-

When Steve came in an hour later it was dark outside and fully raining again. Sam was in the kitchen starting dinner, singing along to a song on the radio and Bucky was half asleep on the couch with a cartoon on the TV muted. Steve set a paper grocery bag on the counter and peeled off and hung up his wet layers. He looked wide-eyed to Sam, asking how things were without speaking. 

“He is not asleep. Talk to him. He needs to get his lazy self up anyway,” Sam said, mock sternly. But gave Steve a reassuring smile, trying to communicate that things were better. 

Steve walked around the edge of the couch so that he could see Bucky’s face. “Buck, I’m really sorry. I lost my temper. This is stressful and you have every right to feel however you are feeling.”

Bucky sat up, opened one eye and yawned. “Sorry. I was being an asshole. It’s okay though, Sam fixed me.” He shot Sam a dazzling smile over the back of the couch.

Steve sighed loudly and shot Sam a grateful look, “I’m so glad- wait, how did you do that?” The look turned to confusion and was headed toward speculation.

Sam decided to head things off before Bucky offered up “Sam has great hands” or something along those lines. “I promise to tell you later. Whats in the bag?” Sam nodded toward the bag with his head, while still stirring pasta sauce.

“Oh,” Steve pivoted and headed back to the kitchen, “I picked up some stuff…I thought might help…but if thing are okay…”

Bucky leaped over the back of the couch and made it to the counter before Steve could snatch up the grocery sack. Bucky pulled a bouquet of silk roses from the very top and looked at Steve with huge questioning eyes. 

“No, wait, I had to buy those…those aren’t what I intended to buy…the lady at the convenience store thought I must be fighting with my girlfriend, and she insisted I … give me those.” He snatched them away from Bucky and stuffed them on top of the refrigerator. Sam tried very very hard not to laugh, which involved tasting the sauce and getting a drink of water. Steve was such a sweet man. It was shit like this that made Sam follow him around. Steve protected the world, Sam protected Steve him from himself. Or at least he tried.

Bucky let the flowers go and pulled out chocolate bars, vodka, ice cream and then stopped and looked at Steve incredulously. 

“Oh my god” Sam said, “Steve, please tell me it isn’t pornography. We do have the internet. These days you don’t have to buy magazines.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Steve gave Sam a pointed look. Sam felt like he was missing something Steve was trying to communicate. 

“Steve,” Bucky said very quietly, “I was a little grouchy, so you decided to give me cancer?” Bucky pulled out a pack of cigarettes and held it up, a smile growing on his face.

Steve blushed. “You used to love them, I thought maybe-” He was cut off by Bucky full-body tackling him to the kitchen floor. Then the kind of rough-housing ensued that can only happen between a super solider and an enhanced previously brainwashed ex-assasin who happened to be childhood friends. 

Sam smiled to himself, picked up the cigarettes, and tossed them on top of the fridge with the flowers. Then he put the ice cream in the freezer and went back to finishing dinner.

That night, after dinner, Sam made s’mores in the oven with the chocolate bars Steve brought and marshmallows and graham crackers they’d found in the cupboard when they’s arrived. Bucky made ice cream floats with the vodka, which he insisted was a thing. Steve got a text from Nat that she was driving over to visit the next day. They listened to the rain on the roof and played three-handed canasta which was a game Steve and Bucky told him was a real game they used to play, but Sam was convinced that game was a real as vodka floats. The tiny house was warm and dry and Sam realized he was the happiest he’d been in a long time.

Vodka did not do much to Bucky, and did nothing to Steve, but Sam, having a regular metabolism, had probably drunk more than he should have. He yawned and stretched and said, “I think I have to go to bed”. He patted Steve on the shoulder as he passed him and then patted Bucky’s shoulder as he passed him, on the way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

A few minutes later after changing into sweatpants, brushing his teeth and washing his face with cold water in an attempt to clear his head, he came back through the living room, brushing past Bucky and Steve now sprawled on either end of the couch. 

“Steve,” Bucky asked, as Sam passed by, “Can Sam and I sleep in the bedroom tonight?”

There was one bedroom with a queen-size bed, the only other place to sleep was the couch in the living room. They took turns sleeping in the bedroom, either Sam and Steve, who’d gotten pretty comfortable sharing tight quarters over the past year, or Steve and Bucky, who’d grown up together. Usually, it had to do with who wanted to go to sleep, when. But because the couch was 6 feet away from the bedroom door, which they always left open, they might as well all been sleeping in the same room. 

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Steve answered, surprised, making that face like he was doing a math problem, “I mean…Sam?”

“Sure,” Sam shrugged drinking a glass of water at the kitchen sink, “why not.” It was like they were all sleeping in the same room, right? 

“Good,” Bucky said smugly to Steve, “he will take up less room than you.”

Sam headed to the bedroom, figuring Steve and Bucky would be up awhile talking, thinking it would be nice to drift off to sleep listening to them talk. But Bucky was right behind him, and he closed the bedroom door. Sam heard Steve make a strangled sound of surprise through the closed door. Sam felt completely off-balance for a moment and although partially due to the vodka, he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the alcohol. 

Bucky held up the laptop and grinned. 

“Oh,” Sam said understanding dawning, “thats why you wanted to go to bed with me.” Then thought he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, but wasn’t sure exactly why.

Bucky actually blushed. 

Then, without missing a beat, Bucky gestured toward the bedroom door with his head and said in a low growl, louder than he needed to for Steve’s benefit. “Yeah….Sweet Pea…I just want to give you what you want.”

Steve yelled, “Ahhhh! I can hear everything you know.” 

Bucky answered, “Yeah, Steve, the plasterboard is paper thin and the door is hollow-core-”

Sam cut him off, and said to the door, “He’s just winding you up Steve. He said that because he knew you were listening.” And then threw a pillow at Bucky. 

Bucky giggled. 

“Whatever. I’m putting on my headphones,” Steve said, and they heard the bathroom door slam. 

Then they were alone. 

“You are awful,” Sam said, still standing.

Bucky flopped down on the bed and scooted over to make room, and when Sam didn’t join him, he reached up and grabbed Sam’s shirt and pulled him down too. 

Steve always kept two extra pillows down the middle of the bed. Boundaries. Bucky had scooted them off on to the floor. He picked them up and stuck them behind his and Sam’s heads. He opened the laptop. 

There Sam was, in bed, pressed up against Bucky’s side, staring at the laptop, feeling like he was slightly out of control. Bucky was waiting patiently for Sam to say something. Their arms and hips were touching, and Sam was definitely thinking about that.

“What do you want me to read?” Bucky asked softly. 

“I don’t know. Vodka. My brain is fuzzy,” Sam said a little sad. “I’m worried I will fall asleep.”

“Shut your eyes. I’ll read. It is okay if you go to sleep,” Bucky said softly. 

Sam curled onto his side facing Bucky and shut his eyes. His knees pressed into Bucky’s side. Bucky picked a story and started reading. It was a surreal experience, being read to sleep like he was a child. It felt like a gift Bucky was giving him.

“…as the captain of the football team, Steve had the run of the locker room complex. He pulled Sam into a dark office, closed but not locked. “Sam,” he said, “I just got a look at the other team, and the quarterback…I know him. He was my best friend in elementary school…”

Sam interrupted Bucky and said sleepily into his pillow, “I thought maybe I’d ruined this.”

Bucky turned to look at Sam, eyes sweeping gently over his face, and answered him softly, “I know…you didn’t.”

Bucky started reading again and Sam slipped one hand up under the edge of Bucky’s shirt and rested it on his stomach. Bucky sighed softly and kept reading. Sam shut his eyes and went to sleep.

—-

Sam woke up to light streaming in the bedroom window, the start of a headache, and his arm wrapped tightly around Bucky’s waist. He waited a minute to make sure Bucky was still asleep. He was, or at least was pretending to be to give Sam time to wake up with minimum embarrassment. Sam carefully removed his arm and pulled the blanket up over Bucky’s shoulders, then he quietly opened the door and headed toward the kitchen, running smack into Steve who stepped into his path. 

Steve had obviously already been out running, cold rolling off him. He steadied Sam, then sat on the couch, “Sorry, Sam.” Then he took a deep breath like he was going to say something but stopped himself. 

Sam nodded at Steve and stumbled into the kitchen. Coffee seemed to complicated so he settled for a glass of milk, which he immediately realized was a bad idea. 

“Sam,” Steve started again, from the couch, “Is there something… you and Bucky…”

At the sound of his name, Bucky was suddenly in the bedroom doorway, rubbing his face with one hand and squinting. “What?” Bucky asked, yawning.

Bucky was making such a good show of having just woken up, Sam was now convinced he’d been pretending to be asleep. 

Steve didn’t answer him, just looked at him accessingly. 

Bucky proceeded to act perfectly normally. He headed into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. “Headache?” Bucky asked, tossing Sam a sympathetic look.

“No more vodka floats for awhile,” Sam answered, setting the milk down, undrunk on the counter. 

“Lightweight,” Bucky said, under his breath, shaking his head, picking up Sam’s milk and drinking it. 

Steve said nothing but did go into the bathroom and bring Sam two aspirin. 

Bucky stood watching the toaster toast bread with a self-satisfied smile he had every time anyone used the toaster, now that he’d fixed it.

“Steve,” Bucky said, “You should draw this place.”

“This house?” Steve asked, skeptical. 

“No… I mean,” he gestured toward the window. “It is nice here. All the trees…” 

“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve said, but he walked over to the window and looked out, tilting his head slightly. 

Bucky poured a mug of coffee from the pot that had just finished steeping, and pressed it into Sam’s hands, then joined Steve at the window. They looked at the reds and yellows of the maple leaves, intense in the morning sun, still low in the sky. 

“Its probably too late to see if Nat could bring me colored pencils,” he said, more to himself then anything.

Bucky leaned on Steve, the smallest bit, but in a way Sam recognized as an expression of affection from him. 

—-

Nat pulled up to the house a few hours later. The three guys all went outside to meet her, grinning. She tossed a box of colored pencils to Steve and asked, “You guys are going to feed me right? I’m starving.”

Steve, looking suspiciously at the pencils, asked, “How did you know…”

“Bucky texted me last night,” she said gesturing to Bucky with her chin, “said you needed them. I had to go to Walmart, there was nothing else on the way.”

Bucky grinned even wider and slapped Steve on the back so hard Steve stumbled.

The kitchen did not easily fit more than two of them so Bucky and Sam ended up making lunch and Steve and Nat sat on the stools. Like usual, Nat’s visit was some business, some social. She filled them in negotiations Stark was participating in tangentially to change Bucky’s legal status. Then she filled them in on gossip. They all ate sandwiches and chips and salad from the night before, Steve and Nat on the stools, Sam and Bucky at the two-person table. Steve told Nat about Bucky nearly taking out a deer that snuck up on them and made her laugh.

When there was silence, Sam asked, “Hey, Nat, remember that spider kid in Berlin?” Nat nodded. Sam continued, “He’s got a family, right?” 

Nat thought for a minute. “Yeah, he lives with his aunt,” she answered in a way that indicated that she was waiting for more.

“She is okay? That is a good home?,” Sam asked.

He glanced up at Bucky sitting across from him and almost didn’t hear Nat’s answer that “yes it is a good home” because Bucky was staring at him with the softest expression. He was giving Sam a look that made Sam’s breath catch in his throat.

Sam looked back over at Nat to acknowledge her response and saw her watching Bucky. Then all of a sudden she was speaking in Russian, intently, to Bucky.

Sam looked to Steve, who was apparently as mystified as Sam. Steve shrugged.

Bucky’s cheeks were red. Bucky answered her in Russian. Their conversation went back and forth occasionally tincluding glances at Sam or Steve. Then, just as abruptly as she’d started, she switched back to English. She leaned over toward Steve, “just checking on his Winter Solider programing. He’s good.” Then she took another huge bite of her sandwich. Bucky did not meet Sam’s eyes. 

After they cleaned up lunch, Nat suggested that Steve take her for a walk around the property. She borrowed Sam’s coat and one of Bucky’s beanies and they were gone. Finally Bucky met Sam’s eyes. 

“What, was Nat really talking to you about?,” Sam asked.

Bucky looked back down, “…how about I promise to tell you later?” 

Sam nodded, “As long as everything is okay?”

“Everything is good,” Bucky said, smiling a little uncertainly. 

It took about 5 minutes for Bucky and Sam to end up on the couch, Bucky curled up with his back against the arm of the couch, feet on the center cushion, reading a story on the laptop. Sam was sunk down on the other end of the couch, arms wrapped around Steve’s pillow that had been left there from the night before. Sam had agreed when Bucky had said he was going to pick one. They had struck out the last two times they’d tried this, but this time no one was angry or drunk.

Most of the stories they’d read involved the two of them together. There were mentions of kissing, even of sex, but they’d avoided anything graphic, it was usually one or two sentences in the whole thing. This story Bucky had picked was not like that. This story was a startlingly detailed and lovingly imagined sex scene between Bucky and Sam. 

Bucky did his best to hold his voice steady, and read in the tone he always read in, the soothing mono-tone that Sam had fallen asleep to the night before, “-started with Sam’s collarbone, licking and biting gently. Sam tasted like sweat and, well, like Sam. Bucky wanted to taste every inch of him. He found a soft spot in the hollow of Sam’s throat, and starting kissing and sucking until Sam let out a choked moan and tightened his grip around the back of Bucky’s head, pulling him for a rough, desperate kiss-” Bucky looked up over the laptop screen at Sam. “This okay? I can stop?” He asked, completely neutrally. 

Sam could feel his pulse in every part of his body. He thought possibly he might be going to have a heart attack. He thought that this probably wasn’t okay and probably he should tell Bucky to stop, but he didn’t want to. He was pretty sure this was something different from what they were doing before, but maybe it wasn’t, maybe this was exactly what they had been doing the whole time. He sunk farther down into the couch and pulled the pillow tighter to his body and took a deep breathe. “No. Keep going,” in an unsteady voice. Bucky smiled at him and nodded and started reading again. 

By the time Steve and Nat came back from their walk. Sam had completely melted into the couch. They were both flushed and Bucky was reading breathlessly. Bucky had heard them talking as they walked up to the door and shut the laptop. Sam did not dare look over at Bucky as he tried to get his body under control.

“Whoa,” Steve said, stopping in his tracks, looking back and forth between Sam and Bucky, “did you guys… fight?”

Nat looked at the two of them and cackled in delight. Then she plopped down between Sam and Bucky on the couch. She held out her cupped hand full of raspberries, “eat one, they are delicious.” Sam reached out and popped one is his mouth. Nat leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek. Bucky did not take a raspberry, so Nat punched him gently in the side with her non-raspberry holding hand and said something in Russian that made Bucky smile. He took a raspberry and ate it. When the raspberries were gone she wrapped one arm around each of Sam and Bucky and pulled them in toward her on the couch. “Come on Steve,” She said, “lets watch TV before I have to go. In the end, Steve agreed and sat in one of the kitchen chairs and they watched a cooking show. It was a good 20 minutes into the show before Sam felt like wasn’t going to spontaneously combust. 

—-

That night, after Nat left, they were watching a depressing, slow-paced sci-fi movie on the TV, Steve on one end of the couch, Sam on the other, Bucky sitting in the floor leaning against the couch between them. Sam was hyper aware of his Bucky’s upper arm pressed against his leg. 

“Steve,” Bucky asked casually, “is it okay if Sam and I have the bed again tonight?”

“Yeah, I guess” Steve answered, “Sam?” Sam knew the question was more than just asking if he was okay with it, but Sam, feeling that since that afternoon the situation had definitely spiraled out of control and really wasn’t sure what he’d say, chose to answer that obvious question.

“Yeah,” he said his voice catching slightly, thinking about how dangerous reading another story like that would be in bed, at night, in a room with a closed door. Then trying to cover that up he said to Bucky, “but we need to sleep, you can’t …keep me up half the night.” He nudged Bucky gently with his foot.

“That is it!” Steve yelled, standing and turning off the TV with the remote. “You two…whatever is going on is fine, I just…”

“I was watching that,” Bucky said sulkily, still staring at the TV.

Sam expected Bucky to bluntly explain, which he was good at, but he said nothing so Sam said, “Steve. Remember when Bucky found that fan fiction site and we read some stories and we thought they were funny but you didn’t?”

Steve nodded impatiently.

“We’ve just been reading stories, thats all, when you are out of the house…and last night.” Sam waited for Steve to react but Steve just kept staring at him.

“Yeah. I know. Neither of you guys EVER clear your browser histories and half the time you leave them open. That one yesterday…seriously, BDSM?” And with that Steve’s cheeks went red. 

“Wait,” Sam said, trying to catch up, “you knew we were reading fan fiction?” 

Sam desperately hoped that Bucky had closed out of the story they’d been reading that afternoon. 

“Yes,” Steve said impatiently, “that is not what I’m talking about. I mean the rest of it! I mean whatever Nat and I interrupted…I’m okay with whatever is going on. You and Bucky are…god, you my two best friends…I just…we are all living in this tiny house together and it is probably better if we just talk about it.”

Sam was speechless. Bucky was still staring straight ahead. 

“Please?” Steve asked throwing his hands up in the air.

Bucky turned and looked at Sam tentatively, like he was afraid Sam was going to bolt. Then he turned to face Steve. “Jesus, Steve, we’re just reading fan fiction,” he said calmly, “that is all that is all that has happened.” Sam wasn’t sure if the “so far” he heard implied in that was intended by Bucky or in his own head. He also couldn’t see Bucky’s face but whatever look Bucky was giving Steve was effective. 

Steve rubbed his hand over his face and swore. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry Sam. Buck.” And he turned and went to the door and slipped on his shoes and grabbed a coat and then was gone. 

“Everything is fine Sam,” Bucky said, patting Sam on the knee and then pushing himself up with his other hand. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

Sam didn’t answer, just nodded.

“No,” Bucky said, catching and holding Sam’s gaze, “really… it’s okay. I’ve got this.” Then he was outside too and the door was closed and Sam was alone in their tiny house.

Bucky frequently threw Sam off balance, sometimes physically, but emotionally, pretty much always. Sam just really didn’t have a grasp on this situation and whatever illusion of a grasp he thought he still had after this afternoon, Steve had just shattered it.

He was pretty sure his cheeks were on fire, and his heart was racing again, and he really didn’t want to deal with Steve coming back in to apologize some more tonight, so he got ready for bed. He slid over to the far slide, the side Bucky had slept on the night before. He considered putting Steve’s boundary pillows back down the middle, but didn’t. He rolled toward the wall, listened to the silence of the house and tried to go to sleep. It took him at least 45 minutes. 

—-

Sam woke up, dimly aware that he was no longer alone in bed, then more acutely aware that something was wrong. It was dark outside still, and in the room, but he could tell it was Bucky next to him. Bucky was tensing every muscle and he was clawing at his face, gasping for breathe. Sam flipped the bedside light on. Bucky’s eyes were closed.

Sam knew what was going on and he’d watched Steve handle this more than once. He waited a moment for Steve to burst through the open doorway, but he didn’t. Sam’s brain caught up, right, he probably has his headphones on.

Sam said quietly “Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. Open your eyes.” He saw now as his own eyes adjusted that Bucky was wet from sweat. He thought guilty, Fuck. How long? How could I have slept through this? “Bucky. Open your eyes. Please.” Steve and Bucky had a system and Steve was not supposed to touch Bucky until Bucky was aware enough of where he was to say Steve’s name. Bucky clawed again at invisible hands over his mouth.

“Bucky, open your eyes. Please open your eyes. It’s Sam. You are safe. Steve is on the other side of the door. We are in a shitty modular home in the middle of a field in the middle of the woods. I’m right here next to you.”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered .

“It’s Sam. You are safe. I need you to open your eyes.” he said again with more urgency.

Bucky gasped loudly and arched slightly like he was pulling himself from somewhere far below the surface. He opened his eyes and focused on Sam’s face. “Sam,” he said, but it came out like a sob. Then Sam’s arms were around him and Bucky’s hands were curled into Sam’s t-shirt. Sam pulled him up to sitting. 

“I got you, pal. You’re okay,” Sam said arms tight around Bucky’s shoulders. His hand stroked Bucky’s hair, wet with sweat and possibly tears. The pain in Bucky’s face and Bucky’s jagged breathing hurt Sam. For the hundredth time he wanted to go and hunt down anyone left in Hydra. He wanted to hurt them. 

Bucky’s eyes shut for a moment and Sam could tell he was slipping back into it as Bucky’s body tensed again under Sam’s arms. “Open your eyes, honey. Please. Open your eyes. Stay here with me,” Sam realized as he said it that this wasn’t exactly what Steve usually said but he couldn’t help himself, it was just what was coming out of his mouth. 

Bucky’s eyes opened again. “Sam,”he said, steadier this time. Then, “Fuck.” And then tears streamed down his face. 

Sam wiped at the tears. “Yeah,” he said, pulling back a bit so he could look at Bucky in the eyes, but without letting go of him completely, “I know. I got you though. You’re here with me.”

“Fuck,” Bucky said again, still breathing heavily, “I think maybe… maybe it was the Russian with Nat.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam agreed, although he knew that this happened to Bucky, just like this happened to Sam, and even Steve occasionally. He always tried to figure out what triggered his too, it gave him a sense of control when it came to what the three of them referred to as “bad nights.” 

Bucky was the only one that there was a real risk when trying to bring him out of it, although Steve had given Sam a black eye once, when Sam had tried to wake him up after Steve screamed in his sleep. 

Bucky started shivering. Sam wasn’t sure if it was the wet clothes or the post-adrenaline crash kicking in but he figured even if it was the adrenaline, the wet clothes weren’t helping. “I’m going take this wet stuff off you and get you dry clothes,” Sam softly, gesturing over to Bucky’s pile of clothes in the corner of the room.

“No-o. Sta-y.”, Bucky said through chattering teeth, tightening his grip on Sam’s shirt. 

“Okay. Okay. Umm,” Sam said looking around to see what he could reach from the bed. “Okay. I’m going to take off your wet stuff and wrap you up in a blanket.” Bucky did not move or let Sam go.

“Please,” Sam said again softly. 

Bucky let go of Sam’s shirt. 

Sam pulled Bucky’s layers of shirts off over his head. Bucky shook involuntarily with chills. And followed Sam with his eyes. He looked so young right then. Sam grabbed the top blanket off the bed, which had been kicked down far enough to still be dry and wrapped it around Bucky’s shoulders. Then wrapped his arms around the outside of the blanket and pulled Bucky over to his dry side of the bed. Sam knew he had to keep him upright and not let him slip back under. So there they sat, Sam with his arms around Bucky. Bucky cold and damp and leaning his head back against the wall, trying to keep a hold of where he was.

“Fuck. That was bad,” Bucky said.

“You want to talk about it?” Sam asked.

“I was…” his breathing sped up. “No…tell me about…now.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Sam said and thought a minute, “You and me and Steve are staying in a friend of Clint’s wife’s dad’s hunting cabin. It is small and there isn’t much to do but watch TV and cook and eat …and look at trees…and sometimes birds. There have been some cool birds.”

Bucky pulled his head up from against the wall and leaned it on Sam’s shoulder instead.

Sam continued, “and Steve, the big boy scout, just wanted us to get along. And, I think, we started to get along. And now, I think Steve thinks we’re REALLY getting along. But, seriously man, it is perfectly innocent for two guy friends to like to read stories about themselves, where they go on adventures and have supernatural abilities… and sometimes kiss.. and sometimes get married…”

Sam felt rather than heard Bucky’s hot breath against his neck as Bucky laughed silently.

“And sometimes read stories, filthy stories, about themselves having sex. And it is normal for them, well one of them for sure, to think about the other’s eyes and all their ex-assassin muscles under their shirt and wonder what their lips feel like. And it is totally normal guy friend stuff to want to sleep together in the one bed in the tiny house. With the door closed.”

Sam knew Bucky would understand what he was telling him, that Sam had worked it out, that Sam had figured out what the thing was that they were doing, because Bucky was so good at reading Sam. Bucky always knew what Sam wanted. But just to be sure, Sam turned and kissed Buck’y hair. 

Bucky pushed himself out of Sam’s arms for a moment and dropped the blanket. “Put your arms around me under the blanket,” he said and wrapped the blanket around both of them. Sam did, circling his arms back around Bucky, his skin sticking to Bucky’s damp skin. Bucky sighed again and leaned his head back on Sam’s shoulder, this time pressing his face against Sam’s neck so Sam could feel Bucky’s mouth against his skin. Bucky didn’t kiss him, just held still, pressed against him. And Sam could feel Bucky’s breathing calming. 

They just breathed together for a few minutes. Sam’s brain wasn’t racing like before. He didn’t feel like he needed to file things away to evaluate or decipher later. He knew what this was now and it was probably going to make things more complicated but he didn’t care at all, he really didn’t care. He would sit and hold Bucky all night. He would tell Bucky things to keep him awake as long as Bucky wanted him to. He would make him laugh, and make him calm, and do whatever he could to keep him safe.

Finally, Bucky said softly against Sam’s skin, “Tell me more things.”

And Sam told him about Steve bringing Bucky fake flowers and cigarettes and Bucky getting Nat to bring colored pencils then getting Steve to wish Nat would bring him colored pencils. Then he told Bucky about how lost they’d gotten the first time they’d driven to the house because most of the dirt roads didn’t have signs, or names. And about the motel they’d stayed in for a week before coming to the house and how it included free breakfast and after the third morning a sign had appeared limiting the number of breakfast goods per guest. And he talked until he he was sure Bucky was asleep on his shoulder. Then he stayed awake as long as he could to make sure Bucky was sleeping peacefully. Then he slid them both down onto his pillow and shut his eyes. 

—-

Sam woke up to Steve standing in the doorway looking down at Sam and Bucky with a tender expression. Shirtless Bucky was half sprawled across Sam, drooling on his t-shirt, one arm tightly around Sam’s waist. Steve met Sam’s eyes, smiled, and turned to go back out. Sam said as softly as he could, “he had a bad night.” 

Steve smile fell away, “oh.” 

“Yeah. It was okay though.. I woke up,” Sam said. He brushed his hand through Bucky’s hair, pulling it off Bucky’s still sleeping face. “All the times you did that, for him…all the times you did that for me. Thank you.” 

Steve nodded and smiled again, smaller this time and sadder, and went back out into the living room. 

Sam didn’t try to slid out from under Bucky even though he really needed to pee and really wanted coffee. He knew that it was important to be exactly where he was when Bucky woke up. After a few minutes though he loudly whispered “Steve” through the open door.

Steve loudly whispered back, “yeah?” from the kitchen. 

“Can you please make coffee?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah.”

Five minutes later Sam could smell coffee and maybe Bucky could because he moved a little, then shifted on Sam’s chest and looked up into Sam’s face. “Sam?” He asked squinting.

Sam nodded and smiled at him

Bucky slid off of Sam and rolled onto his back. “I drooled on you,” he said to the ceiling.

“Yes,” Sam agreed still smiling at him. 

“Huh,” Bucky said processing that information.

Sam gave Bucky a little push toward Bucky’s side of the bed. “Steve made coffee. Lets get up.” 

Then they were getting out of bed and pulling on more clothes, not speaking, but not in an uncomfortable way. Bucky stopped for a moment while pulling a sweatshirt on over a long-sleeved shirt he’d already put on, and looked over at Sam. His eyes lit up and he smiled a huge smile. Sam figured he was running back through the night before in his head and had just remembered some part of their conversation. Sam just smiled back and nodded. Then they headed through the door, Sam first with Bucky right behind him and he felt the faintest tentative brush of Bucky’s fingers on his waist. 

—-  
Bucky was quiet all morning, which wasn’t unusual after a bad night. Sam and Steve made sure he ate and then gave him space. Sam, bundled up sat outside on the ground reading a paperback next to Steve while Steve drew pages of trees. They didn’t talk about Sam and Bucky. Sam wasn’t sure what Bucky had said to Steve outside the night before, but Steve was definitely steering clear of the subject. Steve would draw for awhile and then sigh and then flip the page. Finally he turned to face Sam and started drawing him. That one seemed to take and he worked on that drawing until he was happy with it. 

Steve showed Bucky the drawing of Sam when they came back inside to make lunch. Bucky unironically insisted Steve hang it on the refrigerator. 

When they were cleaning up lunch, Bucky said quietly, “We’re out of grape juice.”

“Yeah, I’ll put it on the list,” Steve answered.

Bucky turned from the sink where he was washing all of their plates. “I just… I really want grape juice.”

Steve said, “We hardly need anything else. Can you wait a few days until we need to do a grocery run?”

Bucky sighed, and said quietly “I guess. It just… sounds really good right now.”

Steve came over and gave him a sideways hug. “I can go get you grape juice, Buck.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said softly. Then added, “They kind from the grocery store, in the big jug, not the stuff from the gas station.”

The grocery store was 10 miles further than the gas station.

“Yeah. Fine,” Steve said grabbing the very short grocery list and the car keys off the counter. “You need anything Sam”

“No man, I’m good,” Sam said from the stool at the counter. 

Steve shot one glance back at Bucky whose hair was hanging down over his face, like he was about to say something, but thought better of it and left.

From where Sam was sitting he could see Bucky’s smile through the hair hanging over his face.

Sam pushed the stool back and stood up. “You are awful!” he said laughing in spite of himself, “you are so awful to that man.”

Bucky dried his hands off and smiled sheepishly at Sam, then grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch. Sam let himself be led and held on to Bucky’s hand longer than he needed to.

Bucky picked up the laptop, opened it and handed it to Sam. “Read this one,” he said, softly. They sat in the middle of the couch, pressed together. 

It was ridiculously short but Sam was going to read whatever Bucky asked him to. Sam read out loud, “Bucky and Sam sat on the couch together. Bucky stared into Sam’s beautiful eyes and thought about Sam’s muscles under his shirt and wondered what his lips felt like.”

This definitely sounded familiar to Sam. 

Bucky leaned his head over on Sam’s shoulder, like last night, but this time he lightly dragged his finger tips up and down Sam’s forearm. “Keep going,” he said.

Sam’s heart rate was increasing with every drag of Bucky’s fingers but he read, “Sam said, ‘Tell me what Nat said to you in Russian yesterday’” Sam stopped and looked up.

Now Sam knew what Bucky had been doing inside while Sam and Steve were outside this morning. He typed this. And uploaded it to the fanfiction site. And apparently set up an account.

“Keep going," Bucky said again.

Sam read, “Bucky told him, ‘She asked me if I was having more than friendly feelings toward you. And I told her yes. And I told her I wasn’t sure about you though. And she told me that Steve had told her that we’d been reading fan fiction stories and she suggested I read a dirty one and watch your face.’”

Sam looked up from the screen over to Bucky, keeping his voice carefully neutral he said, “It sounded like she said more than this.” 

Bucky met his eyes, his voice equally as neutral, “She had some very specific recommendations for what to look for.”

“In stories? Or in me?” Sam asked.

“Both” Bucky answered honestly.

Sam knew Nat would. 

“What did she say when she and Steve came back in?” Sam asked curiously.

“Oh…,” Bucky had to think for a moment, “Paradise in a hut. It is a Russian thing. It means…even a hut is paradise if you are with the ones you love.” Bucky gestured around them to the tiny house. 

Then Sam asked, his voice less casual than before, “What did you see in my face?”

Bucky held Sam’s eyes with his. “I saw… what you wanted. Keep reading.”

Sam read, “Bucky wanted to kiss Sam but he hadn’t kissed anyone for 80 years. Sam realized this and took pity on him and kissed Bucky.” 

That was the end of the story.

Sam looked up and was about to tease Bucky but caught the wary look in his eyes, like he was steeling himself for pain. Instead Sam set the laptop down and turned to face Bucky. He knew this should feel dangerous or out of control, but the night before things had all shifted neatly into place and he just felt right. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” He asked Bucky, before touching him. 

Bucky nodded.

It seemed crazy to Sam that it was this easy. 

Sam reached one hand up to gently cup Bucky’s cheek and leaned in and gently kissed him. He felt Bucky gently kiss him back. It was the way he imagined, or actually, it was better than he imaged. He imagined Bucky’s soft lips and the way he smelled and the rough brush of Buck’t cheek against his, but he couldn’t have imagined how Bucky’s responding to his kiss would set his body on fire. 

He pulled back to look into Bucky’s eyes, just to check to see if this really was okay and what he saw made him lean in and kiss Bucky again, this time tangling both hands in Bucky’s hair and kissing harder. Bucky was now touching Sam’s face and sliding one hand up under Sam’s shirt to touch his skin. 

Sam pulled back again to catch his breath, heart pounding in his chest, “Do you think…do you think we can get Steve to wear his headphones tonight?” he asked Bucky. 

Bucky gave a small laugh and he lunged for Sam. Voice catching a little he said, “Yes, but lets keep doing this until he gets back.”

Sam agreed but told Bucky to hang on a second while he closed out of the website. He scrolled up to the top of the page and read the hashtags Bucky had added: #sweet, #firstkiss, #gettingtogether. 

“You are such a dork,” he said to Bucky who leaned over to see what he was looking at and then grinned. 

Then Sam saw the username, SamandBuckyismyOTP, and grabbed for Bucky.

—-

Much later that night, they were curled together in the middle of the bed under a pile of blankets, still kissing and touching each other’s skin.

“You know,” Bucky said lazily running his hand up and down Sam’s back, “we could just stay up all night, while Steve in sleeping, and then sleep all day while Steve is awake.”

“Steve would be lonely,” Sam said into Bucky’s chest. “You sold that grape juice thing well when he got back.”

“I was really thirsty from the kissing,” Bucky said. 

“I think,” Sam said, “we have to just talk to him. I think he will be okay. He said he would be, right? I don’t want him to…be left out.”

“I think,” Bucky said carefully, “we just need to pull him in then, not…the kissing parts, but the rest. We just…need to…keep him part of us.” He looked over at Sam to gauge his reaction.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

They were silent for a minute.

“I guess we don’t need to read those stories anymore?” Sam said neutrally. 

“I guess not,” Bucky said equally as neutrally. 

Sam lifted his head up to meet Bucky’s eyes and then leaned in and kissed him. Then continued, “But, I was thinking about a story I wanted to write where I’m a falcon shifter,” and you and Steve and I take down a cat burglar jewel thief.”

Bucky’s eye sparkled, “Thats good, because I want to write one where I’m a vampire and we have a lot of sex.” Then added, “Oh! We could get Steve to draw fan art!”

Sam made a choking sound.

“I meant of yours!” Bucky said pulling Sam up and kissing and gently biting his neck, turning Sam’s sound into a gasp.


End file.
